Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [176]
A calloused brown hand slapped a plate of beef down in front of Nefret. Blood formed a repulsive puddle around it.
“You were one of Bertha’s aides,” Nefret said slowly. “A member of her notorious organization of women. You took it over after she died. You must be . . . I’ve forgotten your name.”
“It was a nom de guerre. We never met formally, but you may remember the nurse who was in attendance on a pregnant lady. Pregnant with that one,” she added, frowning at Maryam. Her eyebrows squirmed like blind white caterpillars. “Sit up straight, girl. What are you sulking about? The failure of your romantic fantasy? I trust you aren’t having second thoughts.”
“It wasn’t a fantasy,” Maryam said sullenly. “It would have worked.” Her wide hazel eyes moved from the old woman to Nefret and back.
“Nonsense. In any case, it’s too late now.”
“Matilda,” Nefret breathed. “That was the name. Mother told us about you. It’s she you want. Mother and—”
“The man who abandoned my girl for her. Her lover.”
“They were not lovers,” Nefret said indignantly.
The old woman cackled with laughter. “No? The more fool she, then. I took rather a fancy to him myself, but of course he never gave me a second look. I wonder . . . Would he be willing to exchange himself for you, little Maryam? Then you can have your precious Ramses, supposing you are woman enough to win him.”
Maryam’s mouth tightened. “He wouldn’t agree. They must know now I’m as guilty as you.”
“We can think of something,” Justin said eagerly. “I’d like to know him better. Much better.”
“Control yourself,” Matilda said severely. “Revenge is all very well, but it must not interfere with our primary aim.”
Nefret didn’t have to ask what that was. Emerson had been right. There was only one way they could recoup their “investment”—by seizing the princesses’ treasure.
“How are you planning to capture the steamer?” she asked casually.
Matilda grinned at her. “Clever girl. Since you’re so clever, you figure it out. It will give you something to occupy your mind for the remainder of your stay with us.”
WE WERE ON BOARD BEFORE daybreak. I do not believe anyone had slept, despite my admonitions. I know Ramses had not. The dark stains under his eyes looked like smears of charcoal. Waiting with forced patience for that moment when there was enough light to distinguish a black thread from a white, I stood at the railing looking toward the outline of the western mountains and reviewing our preparations to make sure nothing had been overlooked. The messengers were on their way to villages down- and upstream; signals had been arranged, so that any news could be immediately relayed to us. We had a crew of twenty, all thirsting for blood; we might have had fifty, had there been room for so many. Cyrus had brought his entire arsenal of pistols and rifles.
The greatest difficulty had been persuading some members of the family to remain behind. My orders had less effect than Ramses’s appeal.
“If something goes wrong, the children mustn’t be left without all their parents and grandparents. Lia—Aunt Evelyn—promise you will look after them.”
At this point Gargery burst into tears.
“You too, Gargery,” Ramses said resignedly.
“With my life, sir, with my life,” Gargery sobbed. “But, sir, don’t talk so discouraged-like. You’ll come back.”
“Not without her,” Ramses said. He turned away.
I loved Nefret like a daughter, but it was of Emerson I thought in those last dark moments before sunrise. If I knew my spouse—and I did—they could not have taken him without a struggle. Did he lie even now wounded and suffering in some hastily contrived and horribly uncomfortable prison? Or had they already . . . No. I would not think that.
Our force consisted of Cyrus and Bertie, both of whom were good shots, Ramses, who was even better when he overcame his dislike of firearms, David, Selim and Daoud, Sethos, our twenty loyal men, and of course myself. I was fully armed, with pistol, knife, belt of tools, and the sword parasol I had retrieved from Evelyn. My blood was up, and I hoped I would